


Science Jawn

by Abhorsen44



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, sherlock/john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abhorsen44/pseuds/Abhorsen44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No surprise kissing because I'm not sure how many times I can knock you to the ground without actually damaging you." </p>
<p>John is having a horrible day and Sherlock is being his usual self - except when he isn't. Help John figure out why Sherlock would kiss him for 'Science, John.' Lovely fluffy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Science Jawn

**Author's Note:**

> My first fiction in 15 years, awkward though it is. I blame you, my twin, and you, AO3, for being so marvelous and alluring with your shiny, shiny Johnlock.

Science Jawn  
by Abhorsen44

John hissed in annoyance as he scraped his right shoulder against the front door-frame of 221 Baker Street. Both hands occupied with shopping, he shouldered his way past the door and started up the stairs. One-handedly juggling the keys to his flat while still hanging on to his purchases resulted in keys being dropped to the floor and one of the shopping bags adopting a stranglehold on his right wrist. Leaning his forehead against the door, John let out a quick, annoyed huff of breath and wished that the last two hours hadn't been quite so awful. 

Sherlock had somehow managed to use an entire unopened bottle of milk as some kind of emergency chemical reagent in an experiment that had also made all unsealed food items in the kitchen cum laboratory inedible (Sherlock: “Well, you could eat them, John. I’m not sure how much they actually absorbed…. if you do eat it, keep track of your intake and output levels, would you? I’ll put some measuring cups in the bathroom with sample containers.”). After opening all of the windows and dragging two loads of trash to the outside bins, reassuring Mrs. Hudson that she ‘probably’ wouldn't have to have the flat fumigated, and interrogating Sherlock as to why he felt the need to use those particular chemicals in combination without a proper fume hood and ventilation – and a blank look and a drawled, “Science, John,” is NOT a valid reason, dammit – John set out to replace as much of the pantry as possible on his meager paycheck. 

And heaven forbid that he actually manage to get through a Sherlock related crisis without a visit from a sleek-yet-creepy government car, because after his obligatory row with the chip-and-pin machine he emerged triumphant from the shop only to be politely yet firmly escorted to Holmes the elder. Unsure of how exactly it was his fault that Sherlock managed to sneak stolen laboratory supplies past Mycroft’s goons, John nevertheless adroitly avoided emphatic umbrella gestures and made vague agreement noises in the hopes of getting home before the milk spoiled – 

-milk which wasn't being made colder by John standing draped against the door like some dramatic moron. The Holmes’ sense of drama must be rubbing up on him, John thought as he picked up his keys and unlocked the door while attempting to untangle the shopping bag’s stranglehold on his wrist. Only to be yanked inside and pulled against a clearly manic Sherlock.

“All right,” said John calmly, face squished against Sherlock’s sternum, “what is going on?”

Sherlock drew his hands up to frame John’s face and stared searchingly into his eyes; “Science, John.”

“Milk, Sherlock,” John said with equal seriousness, gracefully kicking in the side of Sherlock’s knee. As Sherlock dropped to the floor with a surprised “Ngh” John walked to the kitchen to put away the milk. “I’m getting sick of this shit, Sherlock. After nearly being a victim of biological warfare in my own home, kidnapped by your arse of a brother –“

“Not to mention the front door assaulting your (pause) right shoulder and dropping your keys,” Sherlock stated from the floor. 

“-and I didn't even kick you that hard, get off the floor.” 

John had finally gotten the milk safely to a refrigerator and was reaching up to put the cereal away in the overhead cupboard when he heard Sherlock drag himself off the floor. Seconds later a warm, bony body draped itself over John’s back. John froze momentarily and then placed both hands carefully onto the counter. “What is going on, Sherlock?”

Softly mumbled; “Science, John.”

John’s hands clench into fists against the counter. “You keep saying that like it means something. You aren't making sense. Did you eat something I forgot to bin? Trust you to forgo a lifetime of not eating only to eat contaminated food.” 

John tried to turn around but was stopped by Sherlock’s hands on his waist. “Seriously, Sherlock, I have no idea what is going on and am feeling pretty violent towards your person right now.”

“Don’t kick me again.” Sherlock said. 

“Then let me go. And start making sense. And maybe close the windows and put away the cereal?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock said, sliding his hands from John’s waist and taking a single step back. 

“I’M being ridiculous,” John huffed, turning around and crossing his arms, “Sherlock, I…. mmph.”

Sherlock had stepped back in towards John. Not for long, of course. Even when surprised by unsolicited kisses from gangly flatmates, John has quick reflexes and Sherlock ended up back on the floor again. John was starting to edge past annoyed and well into furious. He glared at Sherlock who started wiggling around on the floor. “What -?! Fuck!” John said as Sherlock hooked his ankles behind John’s knees and dragged him down to the kitchen floor with him. John landed heavily on Sherlock, who said, “Ouch.” 

“The hell, Sherlock!” 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“I need to hit you.”

“Later. Just… please?”

“Oh, well of course, because you said ‘please’!” John said sarcastically, rolling to the side. Leaning on his elbow John was about to either get up or commence noogying his curly haired opponent with all of his might when he looked at Sherlock’s face. Curled up on the floor, John had never seen Sherlock look so miserable. “I need to talk to you,” Sherlock said again, looking at John as if willing every word to penetrate into his thick skull. 

John really wanted to be angry at Sherlock. His behavior this morning, and then kissing him? Not that John objected to the kiss, not really. He couldn't be that hypocritical, not after the way he had practically thrown himself at Sherlock their first dinner at Angelo’s and been roundly rejected. But John had managed to resign himself to a life of side kick extraordinaire and furtive wanking, and now….

“You have five minutes and then you have to eat a whole sandwich and watch Top Gear with me,” John said, settling back down so that he was facing Sherlock on the floor. 

Sherlock took a deep breath, staring intently at John as if trying to figure out the best sequence of words to best communicate his intent, “Earlier. You asked me why… why I…” 

“Why you were a fucking idiot?”

Sherlock scowled, “That is hardly accurate and more than a little rude – “

“- and you said, ‘Science, John,’ like it was an answer.” 

“- AND I said, ‘Science, John,’ because it was an answer you would understand! Like it isn't obvious why I do everything I do, for ANSWERS, for SCIENCE! Because I want to know why things happens and what happens when– “

“Wait, you kissed me because you wanted to see what happened? As an experiment?”

“I… this morning you were angry. And you said that you didn't care what happened to the kitchen or the flat or the whole of London (like I would destroy London, John, honestly) as long as I wasn't hurt. You told me I couldn't leave you.” John blushed and Sherlock continued, ”You acted like you...You are the first person who….”

“Who what? Cares what happens to you? Christ, Sherlock, of course I care, that doesn't mean you can experiment on me just because you suddenly acknowledge that you feel things.”

Sherlock rolled away, muttering to himself.

“I think you just wanted to kiss me.” 

Sherlock rolled back towards John, eyes wide. 

“Yep,” John grinned and hopped up off the floor, looking bemusedly down at Sherlock, “If it takes me screaming bloody murder at you to get you to realize that I don’t just hang around you because we live together, then great. Because I like yelling at you. Although you really don’t have to kiss me, there is such a thing a ‘friends’; and no surprise kissing because I’m not sure how many times I can knock you to the ground without actually damaging you.” John held out his hand and helped Sherlock to his feet. 

Sherlock stood awkwardly in front of John for a moment before walking away and throwing himself onto the couch. John finished putting away the shopping, glancing in occasionally at Sherlock who had rolled onto his back with his hands underneath his chin in what he referred to as his ‘thinking pose’ and John referred to as ‘creepy dead guy with his eyes open pose’. John checked on the milk one last time to make sure that Sherlock hadn't destroyed it yet, closed the refrigerator door and made a decision. 

_____

Sherlock was not sure where he had gone wrong. He had clearly misjudged. No, not misjudged; he merely lacked data. This morning he had been subjected to a revelation – John yelling at him (inconsequential as the words were) indicated that John was concerned about his well-being. That John was worried about his safety. That John… cared. About him! And acknowledging that fact made Sherlock realize that he… cared… for John. Perhaps he was incorrect in his physical expression of caring? No, that’s what the feeling people did, right? And Sherlock… wanted John to know that he cared. Maybe John was abnormal? He did have a strange predilection for tea and attachment to frankly appalling jumpers. Which Sherlock found… endearing? 

Sherlock surreptitiously ran an internal systems check; the transport seemed functional. But that had been a very strange classification of data. What was next? Thinking things were cute? If changing his thought processes and making John kick him were the side effects of feelings than perhaps Sherlock should just delete them; delete the strange warmth of knowing another person would mourn him, delete the softness of John’s lips underneath him, delete John pressed forcefully against him and giggling at him and chasing after him and telling him he was amazing. 

Maybe he wouldn't delete that last part. Or all of the kissing part. 

Sherlock’s thoughts were completely derailed by a sudden weight across his midsection the exact size and shape of a former army doctor. He started to say, “J –“ but his words were swallowed by a warm and intimately placed mouth. John sucked gently at Sherlock’s bottom lip then licked his way into Sherlock’s very surprised mouth. Sherlock was overwhelmed by the crushing vortex of sucking hot moist licking warm lovely - 

Sherlock’s brain forcibly offlined: [system breakdown… data overload… adjectives insufficient… rebooting…]

Sherlock whined as John pulled away from his mouth. John smirked from where he was sprawled across Sherlock’s lap. “I thought there was to be no surprise kissing,” Sherlock managed. “Mmmm. Are you objecti-“ “NO!”

John laughed and leaned forward until their foreheads bumped, “How’s that for science?”

“Repeated testing necessary. Please.”


End file.
